He's able to fly above us but chooses to walk among us - human nature is an inspiration. We just have to SEE what he sees. -- "Smallville" and comics scribe Bryan Q. Miller, via Twitter

Happy birthday week, Superman! (And Lois Lane, who also appeared in April 18, 1938 Action Comics #1!) You're looking as full of vim and vigor as you did the first day you flew onto newsstands; certainly your hair is as blue-greased as ever, and your spit curl falls ever so elegantly out of place on your forehead same as always. What has changed about you is your meaning in the lives of most Americans.

Sure, you've always represented adolescent power fantasies, and you've always had an over-developed sense of fairness and justice. You've often fought on behalf of the little guy, while also being accused of fascism by commentators who sought to destroy you. But what changes about you from generation to generation is WHO you actually are behind the cape. From 1938 until 1986, Superman was the reality and Clark Kent was the myth. From 1986 until 2011's New 52, Clark was the reality and Superman was the myth Clark used to work good in the world. In either scenario (though I much prefer Clark or immigrant Kal-El as the foregrounded personality), what matters often is the revelation of the true persona, or even more impressive, the hiding of that persona. Superman's creators knew what they were doing when they gave Superman a double identity, and it is that double identity -- along with the love of a good woman -- that gives Superman his vulnerability, his complexity, his relatability, and his wicked, wicked fun.

Many of the places I go to read about comics and culture have spent this week blogging about what you mean to them. The above quote by Bryan Q. Miller pretty much sums up how I feel about you, Man of Steel. Human nature is the inspiration for your Clark Kent clumsiness, and it's human desire that lies at the heart of your intoxicating abilities. Not only does your guise as Clark Kent allow us mere mortals to envision ourselves in your bright red boots (once you don them for action), your work as Superman is aspirational. You can represent the best, most compassionate and striving version of humanity, best typified in this wonderful series of panels from Grant Morrison's All-Star Superman. But that's not why I am fascinated by you, why I feel I personally relate to you, despite my being a woman, and the common, insistent claims out there that you have no personality and are as boring as dirt.

I have to admit many of your elements over the years have been problematic. You've been a bully, you've been square and patriachial, and you've been The Man holding down Lois Lane by secretly laughing at her not figuring out your secret (starting early and often in the comics). All this to say, I look at you with clear eyes. I know all these things about you, and I can still see what's powerful about you at the core. It's not flight or super-strength or super-hearing (natch). It's because I live with a secret identity every day.

I have a disability, but it's not a visible one. Most people who meet me don't know I'm hearing-impaired until I finally announce it. I've been told by a multitude of colleagues that they didn't know about my handicap for a good year after meeting me. This isn't necessarily something I hide on purpose. It's a part of my life; I can't say I forget about it on a daily basis. But after waking up in the morning, I put my hearing aid on, same as anybody who wears glasses or contacts would put those on to function in the light of day.

But your sly Clark Kent wink at the audience, I recognize it. Because the advantage of not having a see-all, be-all disability is that I know something others don't; I know I'm technically less functional, but no one else does, and that gives me a feeling of power. All people see is my successful walk through the world; they don't see the hundreds of little foibles I endure without my hearing aid, or when I struggle over the phone, or the way I have to position myself in a room so I can hear everyone in it. Others don't see the work, so to them, it doesn't exist. To them, I'm normal, much like you are normal as Clark. And when I tell them about my disability, I get to impress people in retrospect, much like when readers get to see you jump into action.

Like you, I get power from a secret. In the Golden and Silver Ages of comics, you got satisfaction from duping others into thinking you were a weakling, not worth noticing. In the Bronze Age, you hid happily with Lois in the classic story, "Whatever Happened To The Man Of Tomorrow?". In the Modern Age, however, things changed. Authors needed a reason for you to court Lois as Clark, and so it became important for that side of your personality win her over first. So telling her about your secret life as Superman became a major point of vulnerability for you. In fact, in all Ages, revealing your alter ego always has a cost, whether it be to your love affairs or your civic duty.

And I understand that, too. Because announcing your secret leaves you open to judgment or exposure. It takes away your advantage, and who would think anyone could gain ground over you, Supes? But it's possible. And not because of kryptonite, but because of human insecurity and need. While Batman may one-up you in terms of psychological torment, your ability to show humanity both its largest triumphs and its deepest woes, simply through the putting on or taking off of a pair of glasses -- well, that justifies more than 75 years of narrative work to me. And the fact that you consistently announce yourself as Superman, or as Clark, and go about the business of pursuing a story, or squashing an alien invasion? That just gives me hope to live my life as openly as possible, without worry, and with courage that I will be understood. Thanks for the example, same as always, Superman!

POST-SCRPT: And if you haven't watched this yet, give her a go right this minute:

I'm pretty psyched, particularly for Amy Adam's take on Lois Lane. Also promising are the myriad opinions we get on Supes before he appears. After all, he is a public object of fascination in both reality and fiction, so it makes sense to have folks give voice to their thoughts on him even in a movie trailer.

Every once in a while, things line up in surprising ways. This past week, Gail Simone revealed something she'd had in the works for months -- a bit of minority inclusion in her interrupted, and then rejuvenated, run on Batgirl (pictured above). This reveal made headlines! It made people debate whether or not Barbara Gordon's roomie Alysia was actually the FIRST transgender character in mainstream comics! It made me curious to pick up the run of a book I haven't particularly loved, despite my undying admiration for Gail Simone as the writer of classic stints on Birds of Prey, the Secret Six, and Wonder Woman!

So I read Batgirl number 19. And I mulled over its cultural impact.

Later in the week, my colleague and friend Garret emailed me an article where Daredevil scribe and personal writing hero Mark Waid declared it's not possible to launch a book starring a woman because of sales (this comment was made as part of an online class discussing comics and gender, and Lois Lane's ability to carry her own book; Waid is right that many female-led books aren't selling well, though some are, and one of them is Batgirl).

These items, taken together, gave me pause. On the one hand, we have one more notch on the belt of inclusion. On the other hand, we're told that women can't act as the heroes of their own stories, not without getting cancelled. This dichotomy led me back to the above panel in Batgirl, and the reaction Barbara has to the news, shown here:

Rereading this series of panels, I came to realize something. While worth trumpeting, the mere creation of a transgender character shouldn't merit mad Internet buzz, particularly when so far in Batgirl, Alysia's only been around to play damsel-in-distress/victim to Barbara's serial killer brother. (Talk about fulfilling gender stereotypes, amirite?!) As if that wasn't enough, Alysia's here to give Babs this EXACT moment above. What am I talking about? Let's back up.

Gail Simone has one of those unique character-author relationships with Ms. Gordon; Barbara's voice seems to flow effortlessly from her pen. Back when she helmed Birds of Prey, Simone gave Babs all manner of amazing moments as the wheelchair-bound information hound Oracle. One such moment arrived in the form of giving Barbara back a small amount of feeling in her toes, due to the invasion of a sentient computer virus into her body. This odd little miracle allowed Barbara to weigh whether or not the supercomputer known as Brainiac taking over her body was worth one day walking; going along on that journey with her as a reader was eye-opening. It made me think about what I might sacrifice for the hearing technology I use every day. Meanwhile, those without any disabilities whatsoever, I assume, got to see through the eyes of someone who had tough choices to make. Forget inclusion, that's expansion of one's worldview! (And it led to a totally badass panel where Oracle clenched her fists and demanded the virus be cut from her body, damn the cost of her future ability to walk, dance, or skip.)

My point about moments is this: during Birds of Prey, DC gave Simone time to develop an incisive and difficult exploration of disability, and she's worked very hard in her current run on Batgirl to highlight the complexities of post-traumatic stress. However great those spotlights on minority/unexplored perspectives are, Alysia has barely shown up before now, and her mere presence and big announcement in issue 19 wasn't meant to give her more agency, or allow her a heroic moment to stand up for her truth. It's there to prove what a great person Barbara is, how inclusive and liberal and loving she appears to be. Is basic humanity all we expect from our female heroes? Is that why their books keep getting cancelled?

True, Babs provides a great example for kids who look up to Batgirl, but Simone isn't writing this book for kids; it's far too violent for tiny eyes, and the (company-wide, editorially-mandated) gritty artwork sure doesn't provide much of a crime-fighting-but-still-a-girly-girl conflicted image to justify the brashness of the violence, either. Simply stated, this book's not a triumph of inclusion, not yet; neither Alysia or Babs are allowed to struggle with difference (largely because DC probably isn't letting Simone). And transgender concerns are not spotlighted nearly enough to affect the way anyone sees their transgender neighbor, or reexamine how women perceive the world. And change is the gold standard to which I hold all art purporting to reach out to a "mainstream" audience.

I say all this to urge DC and Marvel and Image and every other company out there to do more, to allow their writers and editors to do more. Impressing people with pockets of inclusion cannot sustain your profits. Inclusion has to have scope and stakes and a long-term voice, in order to be successful. Which is also why I think it would be the best possible thing in the world for DC to stand behind a book starring Lois Lane. Think of it as any old Superman comic, but without the Superman. We could watch as she mentors cub reporters and takes down Luthor-led corporations. We could see her risk her neck undercover for the sake of her country. We could even watch Lois Lane push against the glass ceiling. How novel would that be in a mainstream comic?

Greetings once again from northern Illinois! I spent the better part of the last week and weekend as the guest artist for Southern Illinois University's Big Muddy New Plays Festival, courtesy of colleague and program head Dr. Jacob Juntunen. I got to hear and respond to an evening of shorts and three new full-length plays. It was great to get to know the students at faculty at SIU, and dialogue with everyone about how to build a better play. The work was very engaging, ranging from explorations of characters dealing with the difficulties of alcoholism, to showcasing characters getting involved in elevator-building hi-jinks on the way to planning an acquaintance's funeral. I had a blast talking with writers about their work, and was even able to have a couple of conversations about the amazingness of Nightwing. All in all, a fun experience. Thanks for having me, SIU!